


Bet of the Weak

by mother_finch



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen, mother-finch fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-08
Updated: 2015-12-08
Packaged: 2018-05-05 15:12:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5379869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mother_finch/pseuds/mother_finch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PROMPT: Shoot prompt: A bet. Who will give in first? Rules: Any kind of foreplay leading up to 'it'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bet of the Weak

Sameen Shaw shoves her way down the street, ignoring the grumbles that erupt from strangers in suits and ties. Without notice, she dashes across the roadway, tuning out the blaring horns from taxi cabs that don't halt and better-mannered civilians that slam their feet through their brakes to stop in time. Some of them shout out the window at her, others give her the finger, but still she continues as if nothing's happened.

 _I'm gonna be late_ , Shaw mutters to herself, smacking into a few people as she checks the time. Smoothing down her pencil skirt and patting at her bun, Shaw stows her cell back into her purse, pouring on the speed.  _I won't be going anywhere fast in these things_ , Shaw seethes, throwing a nasty glare down at her high heels. They are a glossy black and brand-spanking-new from the box. Already, she can feel the blisters bubbling under her skin.

Coming to the halfway point of the city block, she cuts straight across, plowing through pedestrians like they're grass and she's the lawn mower.

"Watch yourself!" She hears someone huff indignantly from behind her, yet doesn't take the time to turn around and rattle off a seething response.  _I'm late enough as it is._  Pushing her way through the revolving doors, she finds herself in a sea of bodies, all of them dashing to and fro to find the best of the last Late-Late- _Late_  Black Friday Deals. She groans, squeezing through the masses and towards the large 'Forever 21' sign taking up the entire back wall. J _ust when you think you've escaped the retail Hell._

After she makes it through the clumps of glassy eyed moms and squealing teens, Shaw rolls her neck, pushing open an Employees Only door.

"Excuse me," a booming voice strikes her across the face, and she halts, left hand pressed against the black surface.  _So close_. Plastering on a cheery smile, Shaw turns her face up to a burly man with dark skin and cynical eyes. She tilts her head to the side, trying to look as endearing as possible.

"Yes?" She asks in an innocent tone, keeping her eyes large and honest. All the while, her fingers coil around the handles of her purse tightly, just wanting to get to the back as soon as possible.

"That's employees only. And I  _know_  I haven't seen you around here before." Shaw waits, dopey smile plastered to her face, outside frozen in an uncomprehending demeanor all the while her insides scream to knock him out and move on. After a minute that shaves a decade off of Shaw's life, the man sporting a large SECURITY jacket continues. "I'm gonna need to see your employee ID."

 _Well, why didn't you say that five hours ago,_ Shaw grumbles internally, starting to rummage through her purse. She pushes her firearms out of the way, along with the ammunition, and a couple other items that can double as murder weapons, searching.

_Where is it._

* * *

 

Giving the pusher an apologetic smile, she begins shuffling through the bag once more, this time with growing urgency. Harold had made it for her yesterday, telling her not to lose it. She'd assured him with an irritated understanding that she wouldn't, unable to comprehend why he trusted her with his life but not with a piece of plastic.  _Maybe because he's easier to GPS track._

"I swear I had it in here earlier," Shaw says with a small laugh, yet the man's patience has worn thin.

"Ma'am, I'm going to have to ask you to come with me," he tells her, extending a hand towards her upper arm. She watches it crawl towards her, and she wants more than anything to snap it, get in, and get out.

"No, I  _have_  it," Shaw insists, moving a step away from him, all the while keeping close to the door. He isn't buying it.

"You have to lea-"

"Sameen!  _Sweetie_!" Shaw's head snaps up, honing in on the voice. Through the throng, she makes out a tall figure jumping in and out of empty spaces, until Root finally breaks through. There is a ridiculously large smile on her face, and the top of her nose is red from the cold. Waltzing across the hard floor, she drapes her arms over Shaw's shoulders, leaving Shaw with a microscopic shiver as Root's frigid hands slip over her bare shoulders. Root leans in with a fluidity Shaw doesn't even try to break, remaining still and compliant as Root gives her a quick kiss on the mouth. Root pulls back the slightest bit, just enough for Shaw to talk.

"What are you doing here?" She breathes, lips brushing against Root's with each word. Root's mouth draws up in a coy smile as she pulls away.

" _Someone_  forgot their ID badge on the kitchen counter this morning," Root tells her in a gushingly adorning tone, taking one arm from Shaw's shoulders to pull a small plastic badge out of her jacket pocket. Relief floods Shaw's system at the sight of it, and she reaches out for it.

Root pulls it back.  _Just_  out of reach. Shaw raises her eyebrows at Root, eyes stern and lips starting to purse. Root only smiles, staring into her eyes with a devious flame in her own.

" _Root_ ," Shaw mutters in a warning tone, reaching for it again. Again, Root pulls it back, smile breaking wider across her face at Shaw's fluster. Pressing her lips tightly together and ears turning a light shade of pink, Shaw turns her face stiffly towards the security guard. He watches them, his face two parts amused and one part taken aback by their affectionate display.

"You can see the badge from there,  _can't_  you?" Shaw asks, annoyance making her tone tight. "Can I go in  _now_?" Root gazes from Shaw to the man curiously, and then her eyes widen.

" _You're_  security?" Root asks, relief spewing from every pore as she grabs his attention. "Oh,  _good_ , there are these two girls in the shoe section fighting over some high heels. It's getting kind of messy." As if on cue, there is a screech like murder, and the man runs into the crowd of people for the crime scene. Making sure he's entirely out of sight, Root slips away from Shaw, pushing open the door and slinking inside. Shaw follows quickly behind, letting the door close behind them with a bang before they head into a labyrinth of narrow hallways.

"Was that  _really_  necessary?" Shaw seethes from just behind Root, anger boiling in her blood as she stalks down the first corridor. She allows the false front to melt away, ripping off the plastic smile and crushing it under the heel of her new shoe.

" _What_?" Root asks, turning her gaze back to Shaw for the moment. "A girl's not allowed to have a little  _fun_?" Shaw rolls her eyes, trying to find any ounce of calm within her- it's a stretch.

"Not when _I'm_  trying to do my job, and  _you're_  keeping me from it." Root laughs quietly, sending Shaw's heart through a loop.

"They weren't going to let you in without the badge, huh?" Root questions, a little too smugly for Shaw's taste. Shaw remains silent, being all the answer Root needs. "Where would you  _ever_  be without me?" Root asks, turning to walk backwards as she holds out the card. Shaw swipes it from her hand angrily, not giving Root a single second to prepare.

"Probably a beach. Somewhere warm," Shaw tells her, trying to fight down the small smile that threatens to give her away. " _Without_  the headache." Root's eyes narrow the smallest bit, and- not even needing to look- she takes a left down another hall.

"Just  _admit_  it, Sam," Root coos, spinning back around. "You  _need_  me." Shaw can't help the cruel laugh that escapes her.

"Funny."

"You wouldn't be able to last if you didn't have me to back you up," Root insists with a playful disposition; still, Shaw takes the bate.

"If anything,  _you're_  the one who wouldn't last," Shaw shoots back, leaving Root with a secretive smile.

"Oh,  _really_?" She goads humor in her voice as she turns. She stops abruptly, leaving Shaw to all but run into her. From the glint in Root's eyes, Shaw knows that whatever happens next isn't going to be good. "Why don't we find out?" A flicker of curiosity sparks in Shaw's eyes before her obdurate nature kicks back into gear.

"And how would you suggest we do  _that_?" Shaw asks pessimistically, brushing past Root and starting down the hall again.

"I bet you, that you'll need me first," Root says close to her ear, and Shaw forces down a small jump, not realizing how close Root had gotten. Irritated from being so easily disturbed, her mood turns all the more sour.

"Never gonna happen, Root," Shaw deadpans with the shake of her head.

"If you're so sure you'll win, then why don't you accept?" Root quips, egging her on. Shaw, unable to leave herself open for Root's onslaught of taunts to come, grinds her teeth together.

"Fine," Shaw tells her at last, muscles tight. "It's a bet."

"Good," Root responds, the slightest twinges of surprise detectable in her voice. Then, she brings herself up to Shaw's side, walls so restricting on either side that their shoulders rub. Shaw can barely squelch her annoyance, and before she has time to quicken her pace, Root pulls her off to the side by the hand, drawing her weapons as she presses her back to the wall. "Show time," she says with a wink that pulls at her entire face before slipping away. Dropping her annoyance- for now- Shaw protrudes her own gun, then enters the break room.

____________\ If Your Number's Up /____________

Shaw sits in the drivers seat of a beat up Lincoln Town Car, camera in one hand and soda in the other. As she watches the city's hustling form unfold before her, Shaw can't help but think of yesterday's events.

After her and Root's little wager and gunfight on the backside of the Fifth Avenue Strip, they returned to the subway station to find Harold Finch's disapproving glare searing holes through their foreheads. They didn't have to ask how he knew, nor did they ask what he would have rather them done. Instead they went about about their own business, Shaw barely looking Root's way. As fun as the fire exchange had been, she wouldn't voice as much to Root- the last thing she needed to hear was Root insisting that Shaw had needed her there.

 _I don't_ need _anyone,_  Shaw mutters to herself, looking through the camera's eyepiece. Yet, instead of seeing the street, she sees her memories unfold in her mind's eye.

After the day ended, Shaw went back to her apartment, and ordered Chinese food. It was just another normal night, except Root wasn't there. And that one little variable had made all the difference. No noise, no annoying gnat flying about; no blood boiling fluster at Root's expense- it was kind of empty. Boring.

_Schhhhhhhhluppppppppp!_

Shaw is jarred from her thoughts at the sound of the world being sucked into a vacuum. Casting her glance to the passenger seat, she finds Fusco draining his soda to the last atom. He shakes the paper cup a moment, ice scratching against the edges, then tries again.

_Schhhhhhhhluppppppppp!_

"Are you  _asking_  for me to shoot you?" Shaw asks, rubbing her temple. Of all short sticks she could have drawn, it had to be the Homicide Detective.

"No," he responds, glaring at her. "But a sip of your soda wouldn't hurt."

"No way in Hell, Lionel."

"Oh,  _c'mon_ ," he whines, dropping his head back. "I feel like a  _raison_."

"That's what you get for eating so much salt," Shaw responds, rolling her eyes with an internal groan.

" _Hey_ ," he says defensively. "I dunno about  _you_ , but I only got  _one_  life. And I'm going to eat what I  _damn_  please durin' it." Shaw closes her eyes, wondering if it's too much to hope that when she opens them he'll be gone.

_Schhhhhhhhluppppppppp!_

Shaw throws her arm out mechanically, punching him in the ribcage with the soda cup in hand. He coughs, wheezes as he tries to collect air, then opens his mouth to complain.

"Take the drink," Shaw commands in a deathly low voice that stops him in his tracks. He freezes a moment, as if she might have poisoned the thing, then takes it from her slowly, bringing his free hand to the spot in his chest that feels like it might cave in. " _God_ ," she hisses out as he takes a swig. "How did I get stuck here with  _you_?"

"Well,  _I'm_  not working with Cocoa Puffs," he huffs out, still a little out of breath from the blow. " _You're_  the only one crazy enough to deal with her anyway. Say," he starts, and Shaw drops her head back into the car seat with visible vexation. "Why aren't the two of you working this together instead?"

"Not really your business," Shaw responds coolly.

"What? Just because we don't work together all the time means you can't tell me anything?" He shoots back. "Thought we were friends." Shaw licks her lips, fingers tightening around the camera like it's his throat.

"The last thing I want to do right now is listen to your whiny ass. So do me a favor and stop talking?" She gives Fusco a fatal stare, and as he settles back into his seat with a grumble, Shaw lets out a slow, hissing sigh. "I'm starting to wish I'd gone with Root after all."

"Is that you caving?" Shaw hears Root's chipper voice through her com, and- believe it or not- smiles.

" _Please_ ," she replies with extended cruelty. "With Fusco around, I'd rather be working with his old friend Petersen."

"Jee, thanks," Fusco responds crossly; Shaw ignores him. Shaw hears a man's voice meander unintelligibly her way through the com, and she becomes the slightest bit more attentive. Root laughs melodically before replying.

"She's just a  _friend_ ," Root says to this mystery person, a smile in her voice. "You should trust me a little; jealous isn't really my thing."

"Root," Shaw says slowly, with a caution equivalent to being dropped in the center of a field of landmines.

"Don't  _worry_ , Sam," Root coos, voice more of a whisper now. "I still think jealousy looks  _good_  on  _you_."

"Who are you with?" Shaw asks, trying to ignore Root's comment although her ears start to heat up.

"Just a friend I made working on the number," Root responds with cryptic undertones that leave Shaw rubbed the wrong way.

"This friend have a name?" Shaw asks, and Root gives a chuckle.

"You  _see_ ," Root remarks in a flirtatious tone. "It's things like that that make you so...  _tempting_." Before Shaw has time to spit back a hostile defense, the man's voice mumbles through again. "Sorry to cut our little chat short," Root says with an apologetic tone, "but I gotta run."

Shaw wants to ask again who he is- or better yet- where's John in all of this, but knows it's impossible. She's just trying to get in your head, Shaw tells herself. _And Hell, is it working._

"This your boy?" Fusco asks, jerking his head straight ahead. Looking, she finds a tall man with shaggy blonde hair and sea green eyes walking down the sidewalk with an unmistakable flow.  _Hello, Darius Kane._  Shaw lifts the camera to take a photo, then places it back down in her lap. Waits a moment; thinks.

"Here," Shaw tells Fusco, shoving the camera his way. Pulling her ponytail tight, Shaw yanks the car door open.

"Hey, what are doing?" Fusco asks, leaning across the center console to grab her arm. "This isn't what we discussed."

"There's been a change of plans," Shaw tells him flatly, shrugging him off and stepping out of the car, taking Fusco's ice-only cup with her. Slamming the door with a bone shaking bang, Shaw stalks around the car, discretely making sure she has the number's attention before sending the paper cup sailing into the windshield. It explodes on impact, showering the windshield in ice and soggy paper pieces. Through the bleary streaks of translucent water, she finds Fusco staring at her, eyes wide and arms up in a what-the-Hell manner. As much as she wants to send a devious smirk his way, she refrains, instead casting him her best angered sneer before stalking onto the sidewalk and right into the number.

" _Oomph_ ," he grunts, stumbling back from her barreling force, and Shaw takes a step back, pulling her eyes open as she spreads an exaggerated countenance of chagrin over her face.

"I- am  _so_  sorry," she says choppily, bringing her hands up to her shoulders as she looks up at him. He takes a glance at her, then does a double take, eyes wandering over her v-neck shirt and light jacket and jeans. His eyes find their way back to her face, where he gawks a little longer before responding.

"I- uh- no,  _no_ , it's fine- it was my bad, really, I was in the way," he tells her, chiseled jaw moving a thousand miles a minute. He runs his hands down the front of his cream sweater, then places them back at his side, superficial anxieties melting away as curiosity trickles into his eyes. "What happened there?" He asks, tilting his head to the car, and Fusco's still stupefied form.

"Bad breakup," she tells him casually, not looking back to Fusco. Questioning flickers across Kane's eyes, but she doesn't divulge any further information. She gives him a melancholy laugh. "I'm sure you really don't want to hear it." He shakes his head.

"No, I would," he assures her, and she narrows her eyes. Kane meets the glare with a lopsided smile. "Scouts honor." Shaw rolls her eyes, letting a small, amused chuckle escape her as she looks away from him and back. "Besides," he continues, looking at her sincerely, "I'd like to know what the sorry sap ever did to lose someone as beautiful as you." Shaw smirks, knowing more and more by the second that he is wrapping himself around her finger.

"And why is  _that_?" She asks, innocent tone teeming with cunning undercurrents.

"So that way if I ever get a chance, I won't make the same mistakes." Shaw nods slowly, trying to conceal the entertained grin growing on her lips. Kane smiles as well, showing the sun up in the process. "You maybe... wanna tell me about it over drinks?" He offers; Shaw raises her eyebrows.

"This you trying to make a rebound?" Shaw asks, and a caught pink tints his cheeks.

"Only if you want it to be," he replies, and she looks him over before starting to walk.

Then, what Shaw had been waiting for happens. Root calls. Knowing Root was most likely tapped into her phone like a permanent bug, Shaw's mouth twitches into a microscopic smirk as she discretely taps her earwig. Before she even has time to breathe out a greeting, Root asks, "Drinks sound like fun; mind if I join?"

__________\ We'll Find You /__________

"You  _just_  gotta say it," Shaw murmurs into her earpiece, voice masked well by the slight din of the bar. "You just have to tell me I win."

Shaw on a soft bar stool, martini half finished before her as she leans with her arms on the countertop. Kane talks about his job- technical computer background Shaw already knows- and she barely listens to a word he says as she continues her small quarrel with Root. It feels good, she admits, to know Root is the one who's flustered this time.

"What do you think, Sameen?" Kane asks, and Shaw pulls herself back into the bustle of the world, looking at him and nodding with all her mustered interest.

"It's crazy," she responds with an earnest flare. "You really do  _all_  of that?" He nods, a proud gleam in his eye as he takes a sip of his beer. "I also helped bring down one of the Target Hackers last year," he tells her, and no matter how hard Shaw tries to act intrigued, she can barely get past Root's cruel huff in her right ear.

"He's lying you know," Root tells her flatly. "No one's found anything about them, or if there even is a ' _them_.'" Shaw rolls her eyes, trying to force herself back into Kane's conversation, but it's no use. "Does he  _really_  think he has your attention pretending to be a tech guy anyway?" Root asks rhetorically, something bitter lacing her tone.

"I don't  _know_ ," Shaw responds skeptically, shooting Kane a quick half smile to show her 'unwavering interest.' "Nerd looks pretty  _good_  on him." Shaw leaves the last sounds of her sentence to hang in the air, and can all but see Root's jaw rolling in a tight circle as silence ensues on the coms. Shaw's cell vibrates, but she ignores it, not bothering to look at the caller. "What?" Shaw asks after the quiet has stretched out a reasonable amount of time. "Jealous?"

" _Please_ ," Root responds, perhaps a little too quickly.

"So, uh, you have any plans for later tonight?" Kane asks Shaw, and Shaw licks her lips, leaning her head in her hand and propping her elbow up on the bar as she looks him over, waiting for Root to get in her two cents.

"Be careful how you answer that," Root warns, ice intruding on her cheery tone. Shaw can feel the glint of a smile forming in her eyes.

"Well," Shaw replies, voice low and lips barely moving. "Unless you  _need_  me for something, I've got no other plans." More silence, which only makes Shaw more smug. "Anything you want to tell me, Root?"

"Just for you not to lead him on  _too_  much," Root responds, voice more serene than before. The tone throws Shaw for a small loop, and she sits up a little bit straighter. "From what I can see of him, he looks like the clingy type."

 _What?_ Shaw thinks to herself, coming off the countertop entirely now. Her eyes narrow the slightest bit, trying to make sense of Root's words.

"Six o'clock," Root informs her, and she turns to see Root standing outside of one of the bar's floor-to-ceiling windows. Her eyes are vibrant and set intensely on Shaw, who freezes. Root, taking her hand from her jacket pocket, blows Shaw a playful kiss. Shaw's jaw tightens, veins in her neck beginning to burst as her eyes scream murder and her ears paint themselves a firetruck red. It's the exact reaction Root had hoped for, and- making exaggerated motions through the window as she hangs up the phone- she takes a step back, slender form and wavy hair melting back into the sea of people on the streets. Shaw's eye gives a twitch, nails digging into her leg as an unmeasurable wave of irritation swallows her whole. Knowing the gig is up and that she's been horribly made, Shaw slumps back in her chair, no longer trying to charm her way through the evening. Her phone gives another buzz, and she finally pulls it out of her pocket, finding four missed calls from Fusco.

Angrily, she pounds in his number and calls, waiting with dwindling patience for him to pick up. She doesn't try to hide the fact that she's on the phone; rather, she makes a point for Kane to see. _Maybe he'll finally stop talking._

"It's about damn time," Fusco huffs into the receiver, and Shaw can smell the worry leaking from him through the phone.

"What do you  _want_ , Lionel," Shaw demands bluntly, voice cold and unfeeling from her latest brush with Root.

"To make sure you and lover boy over there are still alive. I've been callin' forever now; would it'a  _killed_  you to pick up?"

"I was on another call," Shaw responds between clenched teeth, ignoring Kane's confused eyes searing into the side of her head.

"Well, it wasn't as important as this," he snaps at her, and she can hear the screech of tires and honking horns erupting in the background. "You got company. Three guys, all dressed in dark clothes, beards. They're headed your way; you need to get out of there. Now."

Shaw swears under her breath, swearing and yanking her jacket off the counter. Suddenly, she's wishing she'd ordered something stronger, and that she'd had more of it. "Pick us up on the corner," Shaw barks before stuffing her cell back into her pocket.

"We're leaving," she informs Kane, who hasn't moved since Shaw looked out the window. Shaw waits, tapping her foot with impatience, then grabs his upper arm, dragging him towards the door.

"Hey, what are you doing?" He yelps, following along after her with his heart in his throat already.

"Let's just say I'm here to help," Shaw responds, then bursts out the front doors.

__________\ Bet of the Weak /___________

_'ccccrrrRRAAAACKKKKK'_

The back window becomes a spiderweb of fractures as a bullet sails through, exiting the already missing front windshield. Shaw hauls her torso out the passenger side window, one hand wrapping around the assist handle as she fires off a round of bullets at their pursuers.

_'POP!POP!POP!'_

Hitting her mark, a bullet drives itself through one of the SUV's tinted front windshields, and with a small splash of red on impact, the black vehicle takes a sharp detour to the left before slamming into a guard rail. They'd made it out of the city unscathed- save for two broken tail lights and a few missing coats of paint- and have since been racing along Route 87 at the speed of light. Shaw shoots until her clip runs dry before sneering and ducking back inside. Plopping roughly back down in her seat, she yanks open the center console, digging out more ammo.

"Mind putting on your seatbelt?" Fusco asks, voice slightly strained as his knuckles turn white around the steering wheel. Nerves on the fritz, his eyes dart maniacally from the road to the speedometer, watching the needle make a steady crawl upwards.

"I'm not sticking in here for long," Shaw responds. She looks into the side mirror, counting three more cars before the entire thing shatters. Shaw covers her face as shards of glass dig into her flesh, and she finally feels the epinephrine leaking into her veins.

"You guys?" Kane whimpers from the backseat. He's strapped in tight and laying across the seats, eyes plates piled high with fear.

"Still," Fusco continues, ignoring the number entirely. "While you're locking and loading, it wouldn't hurt to buckle up." Shaw's lip twitches into a sneer as she grabs out a fresh clip.

"It's pointless," Shaw tells him, looking through the broken glass window to get an eye on their pursuers.

"Well, what happens if we flip?" Fusco argues, veering slightly onto the shoulder before centering once more.

"We're not gonna  _flip_ , Lionel," Shaw mutters between gritted teeth.

"Hey?  _Hello?_   _Sameen?_ " Kane squeaks out, fingers clenching his sweater as his teeth between to chatter. Again, they ignore him. "W-"

"If you're asking me where we're going," Shaw cuts him off, patience evaporating in the heat of her frustration, "then the answer is still the same as when you asked six minutes ago. We. don't. _know._ "

"Would you  _just_  put it on," Fusco demands, voice concerned but just as stubborn as Shaw's. At hearing the conflict carrying on, her muscles coil to the snapping point.

"No," she responds flatly, loading her firearm. "Now  _you_  drive, and  _I'll_  shoot." Another bullet hails past, striking a hole through Shaw's mirror. Fusco's eyes flicker over towards the spot as they widen.

"Would it  _kill_  you to just sit tight for a little while?" Fusco asks, and Shaw finally explodes.

"You know what?" She spits at him poisonously, chucking her weapon into the glove box with a brutal force. "I'll put it on." With exaggerated movements, Shaw grabs the belt and begins moving it across her waist. "Are you  _happy_  now?" Shaw asks, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Is this  _better_  for you? Because, with bullets coming at us from  _all sides_ , this  _seatbelt_  is quite assuring." Fusco's mouth pulls into a frown at her tone, and his forehead begins to break a sweat.

"It'll help if we happen to flip," he insists in a low mumble, and Shaw rolls her eyes.

" _Fusco_ ," she says, voice the kind of calm that promises a wicked storm as she clicks her belt into place, "we are  _not_  going to fuc-"

_'PA-POP!'_

The Lincoln lurches to the right, and Shaw sees two thick pieces of tire fly past her window before the car sags. The back passenger axle throws sparks into the air as it makes contact with the road, and not a second later, they are thrown towards an off ramp. Fusco slams on the brakes, locking them entirely, and the entire vehicle goes airborne, spinning about like a dryer set to high. All around Shaw, the sky and the ground bleed into the trees, and the trees melt into the mess of everything else. They hit down hard, rolling down the exit in a mess of metal while Fusco still holds onto the steering wheel, as if he could miraculously regain control. The airbags deploy, shoving Shaw's head into the back of the seat, and everything goes black as night. Her ears begin to ring and her limbs feel like lead. At some point, the car stops tumbling, and skids to a graceful stop at the end of the exit.

 _There's blood in my mouth_. That's the first thought that crosses Shaw's mind as she regains her bearings. Then, she hears the hissing of the radiator and the guzzling gurgle of the gas tank.  The airbag deflates, allowing Shaw's obstructed vision to return. As she looks out the window, blue rolls out below her, and a mixture of blacks and grays and whites spread above, a double yellow line in the center. She blinks a few times before realizing her hair is suspended straight up, along with her heavy arms.

"Told you we were gonna flip," Fusco groans, words slurred with a split lip.

"Shut the Hell up, Fusco," Shaw snaps, annoyed at their current state; moreover that Fusco's gut feeling is the only reason why she's suspended from the seat and not flattened against the dash. Blinking a few times to keep the dizziness at bay, Shaw sticks her legs out straight, pressing her feet against the glovebox and forcing her back painfully into the seat as she unbuckles. Then, slowly, she eases herself to the roof of the car, wincing as she puts weight on her left hand. Shaking it out only makes it worse, and so- tucking her arm close to her chest, she crawls to the back seat.

She struggles to find Kane's seatbelt, but once she does, she grabs the pocket knife from within her boot and slashes it open. He falls with a heavy thump, then groans. _Good, at least we know he's alive._  Fusco falls soon after, swearing as he does, and Shaw can't help her smirk.

It doesn't last long; however, as she hears the sound of tires closing in on them. Grabbing Kane around the waist, she shoves him towards Fusco, who promptly shoves him out the front window. Scrambling to collect her gun and some ammo that spilled out during the crash, Shaw escapes the vehicle, head spinning as she stands. Fusco has his arm around Kane's shoulders, helping him towards the T in the street. Silently admitting her appreciation for Fusco's perseverance, she jogs to catch up, then assists Fusco in moving the number along quickly. She tries to ignore the sounds of the approaching SUV's- which isn't hard considering the deafening pound in her head. Every noise is tinged in static, as if in the collision her inner radio was knocked a hair out of line. Her vision too swims, yet she forces herself to move past it.  _Where can we go, where can we hide, where._

At the T, Shaw's eyes spot a mattress warehouse on the corner. Jerking her head towards it, she and Fusco all but drag the half dazed number to the right. Shaw lets go of Kane, rushing forward to open the door for Fusco just as the SUVs screech to a halt at their six o'clock. Shaw opens fire on them, distracting them just enough to get the men inside before she escapes into the warehouse as well.

It's gargantuan. Filled to the bursting point with fluffy white rectangles and wooden crates, the ceiling is three stories away, and Shaw looks up to it in wonder. Wondering where they can hide, and which is the better bullet proof vest:  _springs or memory foam?_

"Hey, Nine Lives, you comin'?" Fusco calls out to her, jarring her from her disoriented thoughts. He stashes the number at the far end of the warehouse, using some of the crated mattresses as protection. Peering over her shoulder, Shaw finds a group of men starting for the entrance, and darts into the labyrinth of beds, snaking her way back to Fusco.

The second the doors open, the warehouse is caught in pyrophoric turmoil, heavy semi-automatics spitting bullets into the air like watermelon seeds. Shaw takes a few shots at them when she can, ducking back into the sanctuary of cots before they have time to pin her down. She feels as if she's running through a jungle, blind past the thick foliage and just hoping she's headed in the right direction. Finally, Shaw hits a clearing, and Fusco's set-up is only feet away.

Fire catches at the corner of her eye as the concrete wall just inches in front of her turns to swiss cheese. Without even looking, she fires back, keeping her eyes on the fortification. _Just go, just make it there, don't think, just do._

Diving, she makes it into cover in the knick of time, and she can smell the singe of her hair from projectiles narrowly missing her skull.

"W-w-what's going on," Kane blubbers, holding himself in a tight ball with his back pressed to a crate.

" _You_  tell  _us_ ," Fusco snaps at him as Shaw dumps her salvaged ammunition between them. "These  _lunatics_  are here for you."

"I- I haven't done any- anything wrong!" He bellows, and something Root said clicks in Shaw's head.

"Target," Shaw states, and his breath takes in sharply.

"Target what?" Fusco demands grumpily, looking between the two. Holstering his firearm, Fusco picks Kane up by his collar, forcing him to kneel at eye level with the detective. "You got a whole  _army_  of men after you, and if you don't tell me what you know, I might as well just feed you to the wolves." Shaw tries not to smirk, calling Fusco's bluff from a mile away.

However, she has no time to relish Kane's terrified confession, for bullets are a virulent rain, and they are all in danger of some serious lead poisoning.

"Question him later," Shaw commands, and within the second, Fusco is back up and firing.

Pulling out her phone, Shaw hits the two then send, the automated dials ringing up Root.

"Let me guess, you miss me?" Root coos in greeting, and for the second, Shaw almost forgets she's a human target.

"No," she responds, although there is the slimmest of smiles on her lips, and her eyes are not as cynical as before. "But I could use some backup at the warehouse on Cedar and West 179th Street." There is a silence that ensues, and Shaw can almost see the smile growing on Root's face.

"Is that your way of saying you forfeit?" Root asks coyly, and Shaw's mood falls back upon vexation.

"No- it's different," Shaw tells her hotly, snapping another clip into place and firing at the group that seems to multiply with every shot taken. A chunk of plywood whips by her face and she ducks, searching for a new angle before shooting once more. "We just need some backup."

"I don't  _know_ ," Root trills in a sing-song voice. "It sounds a lot to me like you're losing the bet."

Fluff sprays the trio like confetti, and Kane shrieks, curling further into a ball at the base of the crates. As Shaw scans, their cover is looking more like a half rotted fender than a shelter. Almost half of the plywood is missing, and holes in the mattresses leave them wide open for assault. Even further, it seems as if the men's entourage has only just arrived.

"Outta ammo, Shaw," Fusco shouts over the echoing howl of enemy bullets eating away at their barricade. Shaw presses her lips together, blood boiling as she finds herself caught between contumacy and keeping all of her limbs.

"F-...  _Fine_ ," Shaw snarls into her earpiece, eyes burning like piping hot coals. "Fine. You win; now will you and John get  _moving_?"

"Already here," Root responds with a clever hint to her tone, and a moment later, the front doors are slammed wide open. Before the semi-automatic wielding men can comprehend what's going on, they are picked off, dropping to the floor with hands cupping their kneecaps in agony. Peeking her head up a little higher from behind their shabby cover, Shaw finds Root shooting with her signature two guns, all the while Reese sports a large submachine gun, holding it down at his waist as it spits out patella shattering projectiles. Within seconds, the earsplitting bangs of gunfire dissipate to silent moaning from all those wounded. For the first time since the car ride, Shaw breathes.

Wiping the sweat from the back of her brow with the back of her hand, she finally gets a good look at Fusco. His bottom lip is split right up the center, and his nose is crooked. Already, his eyes are growing heavy with dark bruises, not to mention the other small scrapes that litter his face. He shows none of the pain he's most definitely feeling; rather, his eyes glisten with a certain accomplishment. Feeling Shaw's gaze, he peers over, and she finds herself giving him a thumbs up in spite of herself. He smiles wide, then comes to a rough, mechanical stand.

Shaw, too, can already feel the soreness creeping under her skin and burrowing into her muscles. Her bones groan with bruised that promise to never go away, and the headache returns to her now cleared mind. She closes her eyes, relishing the near quiet.

"You kids don't look so good," Root's voice penetrates Shaw's tranquil mind, and her eyelids flutter back up. She takes in the lopsided smile on Root's face and the small flickers of curiosity in her eyes as she approaches. The closer she comes, the more Shaw can see Root studying her face, and wonders if her appearance mirrors Fusco's.

Giving Fusco a quick look over, Root steps past him, squinting her eyes the smallest bit as she concentrates on the superficial scrapes along Shaw's cheek and temple. She brushes some of Shaw's loose hair out of the way, and Shaw's heart falters at the mere touch.

"I'm fine too," Fusco comments sourly their way. "Thanks for asking."

"Do you want me to kiss all your  _boo-boos_  better, Lionel?" Reese asks in the most sarcastic and condescending tone manageable, leaving Fusco's eyes to narrow and brow to crease.

"The only thing you can kiss is my  _ass_ ," Fusco grumbles back, walking away to check out the rest of the warehouse, and John- sporting an amused half smile- follows.

"Drama Queen," Shaw cracks at him as they go, and catches Root's small smile from the corner of her eye. Yet, by the time Shaw brings her gaze back to Root, the smile is gone, replaced once more by a preoccupied slant as she inspects Shaw's injuries. Looking down, she sees Shaw's held-up left hand, and grabs it before Shaw has time to hide the evidence. Swallowing down a wince, Shaw allows Root to twist it and turn it in a million different directions.

"I can take care of myself, you know," Shaw tells her, but there is no hostility in her tone. Root digests it, nods, then brings her hands from Shaw's wrist to Shaw's shoulders. Even they ache under Root's touch, but she says nothing.

"But it's so much more fun when  _I_ get to," Root quips back, eyes flaring at the words. Shaw almost lets a smile slip. "Besides," Root continues, pushing another rebellious strand of hair from Shaw's face, "I could never leave you to fend for yourself all the time. Especially not when you  _need_  me." Shaw stiffens at the statement, and giddy pleasure sets fire to Root's coffee brown eyes. Shaw's lips press together, gaze warning Root not to press her luck; however, Root's never been one for taking Shaw's advice. And so, leaning into Shaw's ear, Root tells her, "I'm here for  _anything_  you  _need_."

Shaw can feel her ears light like a wick dowsed in kerosine. Sneering in fluster, Shaw shrugs past Root roughly, the warehouse's doors seeming more and more like a salvation.

"Hey, Sameen?  _Sameen_! Where are you going?" Kane asks with a tone like a kicked puppy. Stopping her brisk gate, she spins on her heel, then starts taking steps backwards.

"Wait there," she responds, not answering his question. "Fusco will take you down to the station." With that, she turns, kicking it back into high gear. Still, it's not enough to escape Root- not that she's entirely sure she wants to anyway.

Sending the number one last too-bad glance, Root falls into stride next to Shaw, unable to conceal her exuberant glow. "Told you he'd be clingy," Root informs her, and Shaw shuts her eyes a moment, hysteria causing a half chuckle to pass through her lips.

"Yeah, I seem to attract the type," she remarks snidely, receiving a playfully unamused glare from Root. Then, smug smile returning to her face, Root tries to slide her hand into Shaw's.  _Main word: tries._

Shaw slides away, lip twitching up distastefully at the show of affection. Still, Root persists, and soon Shaw finds Root's arm draped around her waste. She has half a mind to grab it, twist it behind Root's back in one swift motion; yet- seeing the triumphant gleam in Root's eyes from winning her bet- Shaw decides to let it slide.  _She'd probably have fun with me dislocating her shoulder, anyway._

"Do you have any idea how much I can't  _stand_  you?" Shaw asks her, voice humorless but eyes revealing her unserious intentions. Root, peering back at Shaw, gets that same sparkle in her eyes that tells Shaw to prepare for a hurricane.

Leaning in close to Shaw's face with a coy twist in her smirk, she replies, "Not nearly as much as you  _love_  me."


End file.
